“…”

“Score: Eighty-nine points. Task, kill the five highlighted human targets in the simulated environment using the provided firearm.”

*bang* *bang* *bang* … *bangbang*

“Score: Ninety-three points. Task, inflict a lethal injury on the provided simulation of a genetically enhanced human using your choice of bladed weapon.”

“Selected: KA-BAR pattern combat knife.”

Why do I have to do this?

*stab*

“Score: Ninety-seven points. Task…”

“…”

My mind kept drifting back to the dream I had after the celebration party, even a few days later. It surely couldn’t have been a coincidence that I had two dreams related to my initial training on Earth only a few days apart, but something else about it stuck out to me as well. My thought process in the dream was more like it was in my current state, not how it was when I was actually experiencing the training. I suppose it’s a dream, so it’s not accurate to reality, but still, I thought, my operator isn’t above mental manipulation, so maybe this is something he did to me while I was in stasis, or a side effect of it.

“You again,” the female officer grumbled as I approached the entry and exit station near sundown. “You aren’t allowed to return that ticket you took, so don’t even try it. You agreed to the pay and conditions.”

“I wasn’t planning to,” I replied, putting my new ticket on the table in front of her. “I’m here to fill this position.” As far as Zhoyl knew, the job was to aid in some kind of building construction inside the walls of Awrehrehzha, so it was more than within my capabilities. It was possible that he was wrong, but if it turned out that the job was something inside the walls he knew I would kill him, so it would fit my basic requirements no matter what. It’s not like I plan to actually do the work, I thought.

“And where did you acquire this?” the officer asked, raising her eyebrow.

“Does it matter?” I asked back.

“Do we need to send someone to pick up a body?” she volleyed back.

“No,” I replied. “I acquired this legitimately.” The officer snorted as she took the ticket from the table, then popped open her book and looked for the number’s matching job. It took her a minute, but eventually she grunted to herself and looked up.

“Legitimately, hm?” she prompted. “Okay Yaet, if you say so. Do you know what this job is?” The fact that she referred to me by my fake name and not my real one, despite knowing my real name because I had given it to her, spoke volumes about how much the guards must have been monitoring the internal situation of the prison. Hopefully she picked it up from the fights and not from a leak with other, more dangerous information, I thought.

“Construction work,” I replied.

“You could call it that,” the officer agreed. “You’re going to be hauling things around a construction site and possibly doing some basic bricklaying. You will not be using any tools unless otherwise directed to by your supervisor and any attempt to do so will be taken as hostile intent, understood?”

“Of course,” I nodded.

“Tell me what you think will happen if you show hostile intent,” the officer asked, staring intensely at me.

“I would assume I’ll be shot dead on the spot,” I replied without a hint of hesitation. It was exactly what warbreed did when moving captured enemies.

“You would assume correctly,” the officer smirked. “It’s good that you understand, we wouldn’t want you getting any ideas. Follow me, let’s get you collared and housed for the night.”

The entry and exit station was pretty sparse inside, mainly serving as an area where equipment could be fetched or stored. The meaning of “collared” in reference to prisoners was literal; Before I was allowed to proceed outside of the walls a thick two-piece steel collar was placed around my neck, with a chain connecting to a heavy rock that I needed to carry while moving. Since the Uwrish didn’t have screws, the collar’s halves were bound together on one end by a hinge and the other by a rod of iron that was put through a pair of holes and then deformed using heat to affix it in place. The officer informed me that the chain would be attached to a mounting inside the room I was assigned to, then to a cart in the caravan to Awrehrehzha, and any other place where the supervisor who was in charge of me saw fit to place it.

When I finally crossed the top of the wall and saw the area outside of the prison, my first reaction was one of annoyance and disappointment that I wouldn’t be able to escape as quickly as I had hoped. However, my next reaction was one of relief and vindication for all of the trouble I had gone through instead of just risking crossing the wall. As it turned out, there was a second layer of patrols that walked immediately outside the wall that was also armed with muskets. Prison guards in lighter armor than those on the wall walked a slow circle in groups of three, chatting to each other as they went. Even if I had managed to sneak over, I would have had… at least ten guards trying to shoot me once I hit the ground, I thought, Good thing I didn’t try that.

The officer passed me off to a gruff-looking man with a helmet and brown beard, who informed me that he was going to be my supervisor. He didn’t tell me his name, just to refer to him as “supervisor” or “sir”, and ran me through the same basic set of rules that the officer had. I was to follow instructions from any non-prisoner, prioritizing those from him or by people who he designated. I wasn’t to make any sudden movements, I wasn’t to try to strain my collar or chain, I wasn’t to speak unless spoken to or requesting clarification about my tasks, and should I appear to be slacking I would be warned once, then my pay would be docked. I recited the rules back to him, then was led to a room in a barracks, where my chain was transferred to a mounting on the wall.

The meal came an hour later while I was laying on the bed and trying to determine if I could remove the collar with magic quickly, or at least loosen it so that I could do it quickly later. I was given a large bowl of porridge, or something similar, along with a soft wooden spoon and a warning not to get it on the bed. There wasn’t anywhere else to eat it though, the room was only big enough for a bed and about a square meter of walking space, so I just had to be careful. Once I finished eating I slid the bowl and spoon under my bed and went back to examining the collar. I concluded that I could probably heat the iron bar enough to remove it, but since I wasn’t in a good position to escape yet I left it alone and went to bed.

“Yaet, you next,” the supervisor ordered, calling me over. I had been woken up just before sunrise by a loud clanging noise, then unbound from the wall and re-bound to the heavy rock from the day before and ordered outside into a line with the other prisoners. Most of them were just the average blonde and red-eyed Luwahriy men, but a few had brown hair and one was almost as dark-skinned as me.

“My name is Yuwniht,” I replied, walking up to the cart with the rock in my arms. My correction earned me a smack from a baton that bruised bone along my shoulder blades, and I had to remind myself not to glare at the guard who had done it.

“Put the rock down,” the supervisor ordered, and I dropped it. Once more, the baton struck me along my upper back. “When I say to put something down, I mean gently,” the supervisor explained. I didn’t reply, and I heard the baton being wound back for a third strike before the supervisor held his hand up to stop the guard. “Tell me you understand,” he ordered.

“I understand,” I replied, not making eye contact.

“Good,” the supervisor said, gesturing to a few of the other guards to keep their weapons on me while he detached my chain from the rock and moved it over to the cart. There were eight mountings in all, one for each prisoner, and I was to be the rearmost left walker.

“Pawsae’ahv, you next,” the supervisor said, calling over the next prisoner.

We walked sunup to sundown at a slower pace than I was used to, at least the prisoners did. Each of the guards had a rest period of several hours inside the cart we were tied to, and the supervisor functioned as a driver for the caravan instead of walking. Since we were banned from speaking at all, I listened in on the guards’ conversations, trying to find any useful information. There wasn’t much, really, but I did find out that the reason that collars weren’t used on other prisoners was because it was illegal, something about anti-slavery laws that didn’t apply to us. There was also a lot of political talk that went mostly over my head, but the situation in the city sounded extremely complex and volatile.

Once the stop order was issued, every prisoner except for me fell to their knees at once, two of them whimpering from exhaustion. Packs of jerky were handed out along with cheap blankets for us to cover ourselves with, and we were ordered to sleep quietly until morning. When morning came I found that I was practically freezing from the temperature drop overnight, but a bit of magic stabilized me quickly. The other prisoners weren’t so lucky, apparently not knowing how to use magic to warm themselves rapidly and suffering through shivers until the sun came up. After that there was another day of walking, then another cold night and another early morning.

We reached the gate to Awrehrehzha an hour after sunrise on the third day. I had been looking at the ground after being struck for staring at a guard, so I didn’t notice until the supervisor ordered the caravan to stop. There was an entry line, not very long, but that was far from the most interesting thing about the city. Last time I was here the walls weren’t nearly this high, I thought as I looked around. Much like the prison, guards walked along the tops of the nearly twenty-meter-high city walls armed with muskets, or at least weapons that resembled them. Even the guards at the portcullis gate had firearms.

Someone around three positions ahead of us in the line got into an argument with the guards that quickly devolved into a shouting match. Carefully peeking over at them, I saw what looked like a trader and a mercenary trying to bring in a simple wagon covered in fabrics. The Awrehrehzha city guard muscled past them and ripped off the top layer of fabric, revealing near-translucent glass bottles of dark red liquid, at which point around twenty firearms were leveled at the pair. Magic boosters? I wondered, trying to determine if the contents of the bottles was actually blood or just some kind of juice that superficially resembled it.

The mercenary got on her knees quickly, raising her left arm and removing her sword with her right, tossing it in front of her before raising that arm as well. The merchant, however, made the stupid decision to try to run away. He was just a meter and a half from me when gunshots rang out, and I watched pieces of his head and torso explode into gore. Every prisoner flinched except for me, and I felt a few flecks of blood and bone spatter against my face. He was dead before he hit the ground, and the Awrehrehzha city guard walked over half a minute later to retrieve the body.

“We will do that to any of you if you try to escape, or cause trouble,” the supervisor reminded me and the other prisoners. “There isn’t anything in the world that will save you if we have to shoot.” Except for luck, I thought, but somehow I don’t think many of them would be here if they were lucky.

We were let in without much issue, the supervisor presenting a pre-prepared order and the guards accepting it handily. Though the prison guards weren’t fond of us, the city guard looked at us as though they were angry that they weren’t able to kill us immediately, and the people in the streets were similar. As we walked down the street from the gate to the main square pieces of food were thrown at us, insults were hurled, and another prisoner was even struck with some kind of feces. Only the last attack prompted any reaction from the guard, apparently having gone over the line for acceptable lawful behavior.

In the main square, the supervisor called out to someone he recognized who quickly hurried over and began giving him directions to where we were going to work. I didn’t get a good look at her face, but something about the woman seemed familiar to me, just from her body language. I might have seen her the last time I was here, I thought. Aside from the lack of Rehvite symbology on the buildings, not much had changed about the atmosphere or layout of the city, which was a good sign that I wasn’t gone for an excessive amount of time. Eventually, the supervisor began moving the carts again, and we trudged along to our work site.

Using prisoners to rebuild a guard post must be some kind of irony, I thought as I hauled around another load of bricks from a cart over to the site where the masons were working. Each of the prisoners had been given an extension on their chain once we arrived at the burned-out building, allowing us to move in a radius of around thirty meters freely so long as we didn’t cross our tethers: a task easier said than done. Still, it was considerable freedom compared to being saddled with a rock weighing almost as much as I did or tied to a cart.

“Yaet, do you know how to lay bricks?” the supervisor snapped.

“Conceptually, yes,” I replied.

“What the seyt does that mean?” the foreman of the project groaned. I didn’t reply immediately, waiting to see if the supervisor would add to the question before clarifying.

“I haven’t done it before, but I understand the process,” I said after a beat. “Essentially, place a certain amount of mortar between the bricks, lay them such that the gaps between the bricks on one layer are in the middle of the bricks above, and create as flat of a surface as possible on the inner and outer walls.”

“We have a seytoydh scholar over here,” the foreman muttered.

“Do you want him to help you?” the supervisor asked.

“If you trust him,” the foreman replied. “Guy looks big, could be trouble.”

“He won’t be,” the supervisor assured him before turning to me. “Right?”

“Where do you want me to work?” I asked, directing my question to the foreman. He made an annoyed expression, then pointed to a section of incomplete wall near the front of the building.

“I’ll get you a trowel and some mortar,” the foreman said. “Use the bricks over there.”

We worked for nearly thirteen hours before the supervisor finally told us to stop. On my own, I rebuilt almost the entire front and west side wall of the first floor of the building before being told to stop and return to hauling. A mason was sent over to examine my work and, with the exception of a few spots that they hammered out and re-made, it was deemed to be satisfactory. Though I was using magic to bolster my strength a bit, I was physically exhausted by the end of the day, so when the supervisor informed us that we would be given food and a bath before resting I was quite relieved. We still had to walk halfway across the city before getting it though.

The place we were staying the night was some kind of unused army barracks, so it had more than enough space for everyone to rest as well as a kitchen and bathing area. The first thing we had been ordered to do was wash ourselves while the prison guards observed, making sure we were properly clean before eating. It didn’t bother me, but the other prisoners were annoyed by it, even though they did their best to hide it. Once we got out and were given clean uniforms, we were directed to the mess hall and given a veritable buffet of cheap but filling food, of which I ate a tremendous amount.

“As a reward for your good behavior and effort today, you may mingle with each other for a quarter of an hour before sleeping,” the supervisor announced as everyone was finishing up their meals. Nobody knew exactly how to react, especially considering that we were under armed guard, so except for a bit of small talk between a pair of men who clearly knew each other before the work assignment everyone stayed quiet. Fifteen minutes later, roughly, we were instructed to pick rooms and were bound to the floor in each before being sent to bed.

Okay, everyone should be asleep by now, I thought after counting ten entire minutes since I heard a footstep in the building. As much as I would have preferred a more opportune moment to escape, it didn’t seem one was going to present itself. Spinning the collar around so I could see the deformed iron bar, I began carefully heating it as well as crushing it with force magic on one side. It took an agonizingly long time, but I managed to shrink the bulging portion of the left side of the bar enough that I could slip it out of the two holes keeping the collar together. As I continued to levitate the glowing metal, I began spinning it and gently cooling it with magic, being careful not to use too much energy.

When I put the bar down on the floor, there was an audible clunk, and I froze. I didn’t make that noise, I realized after a second of panic, then there was another clunk. My collar was nearly off, but if I was about to be inspected by a prison guard it would be better to make it appear to be intact. Hastily slipping the iron bar back through the holes, I rolled over in the bed to obscure myself as best as I could, facing away from the door and pretending to be asleep. There were a few more thumps, then I realized they weren’t coming from the guards’ rooms.

Really, they had the idea to escape at the same time I did? I hissed, wondering if I should just repair my collar and wait until tomorrow. The supervisor had mentioned that we would be working for a few days, so I would have another chance, but I really wanted to be done with imprisonment. Footsteps slowly approached, then stopped at the door beside mine. Are these people idiots? I wondered as I heard whispering and the soft sounds of a door opening. When the man inside the room next to mine said a few muffled words in a speaking-level voice, my question was answered in the affirmative. Distractions then, I thought, removing my collar silently, I wait for them to be caught, then bolt in the ensuing chaos.

It really didn’t take long for the chaos to happen. As the third member of the escape exited his room he bumped into the doorframe and swore, then I heard a distant door swing open and the shouting started. Waiting quietly in my room, I listened to the guards’ demands to surrender be met with cursing and promises of death, then gunfire erupted. A piece of my door was blown off, the bullet missing me by just half a meter, but apparently there were survivors because the sounds of a counterattack came just a second later. About fifteen seconds later another gunshot rang out, then a scream, then another five gunshots rapidly. Two of them went through my door, and one struck me in the left leg, leaving a deep gash that quickly healed but left a hole in my pants.

You know what? I think I have a better idea for how to get out of here than crossing the fighting, I realized, turning around to the featureless wall behind me. It was made of the same kind of brick that I had been working with during the day, meaning it was just under nine centimeters thick once the plaster and wooden boards were removed. Thick enough to be stable, but thin enough that I could probably get through it. Using magic to get a better grip I tore the wooden coverings off the wall, stacking them against the door to give myself just a bit of extra cover, then began looking for a weak point.

Another volley of bullets, just four instead of six like before, exploded out in the main room. Only one entered my bedroom and it was at an oblique angle, so it ended up embedded in the left wall. There, I thought, finding a spot where the mortar was weak and cracked. I could have probably gone through the wall at any point but conserving energy was important. With my palm open, I struck the wall around the weak spot while slightly oversaturating myself and focusing the power in my arm. The entire room seemed to shake, the wall bent outwards, and the shouting from the main room changed in tone.

“Get around the outside!” the supervisor yelled, and I struck the wall again, much harder than before. A head-sized hole was punched through the masonry, enough that within a few more seconds I managed to peel out enough of the remaining bricks to fit my torso. My practice at R’vaajh-style levitation allowed me to slip through it much quicker than normal by using force magic to push myself along the edges, and I got to my feet in the wet alley beside the barracks just in time to see a prison guard raising a musket at me.

A burst of light magic blinded the man and startled him. Had he been using an Earth-made musket he probably would have fired immediately, but instead it took him a moment to fire blindly, adjusting to where he thought I was. The result was the same: he missed by a considerable margin. A second later he was unconscious from an electric shock, and I was frisking his body to find the rest of his ammunition. Only four more shots? I grumbled, finding the pre-wrapped pouches of gunpowder and oddly-cylindrical wax-covered bullets in one of his pockets. After cracking open the rear of the barrel and cleaning it out with a wipe of my finger, I slipped in a bullet and one pouch of powder, then closed it up and dashed off.

As I ran through the alleys and dashed across the streets, my primary objective was to find some kind of clothing or covering that would let me hide the prisoner uniform. There weren’t many people in the streets, and it was dark, but the few that got a look at me for more than a second recognized what I was wearing very quickly and started to call out to the city guards. Thankfully it seemed that guards inside the wall didn't have guns, so they had to engage in a foot chase with me that I could easily win. It took about ten minutes before I found something suitable: someone had hung a thick sheet of woven burlap in their rear window on the second floor of a building. One jump later, I was wrapping myself in it, binding the musket to my back and the sheet to my body like a cloak with force magic.

Despite looking incredibly suspect in my own estimation, my new appearance was less attention-grabbing than my previous one by the standards of the passersby in the street, and I managed to slip away from the city guards without much effort. I wasn’t really sure where to go, exactly, but I figured that a guard post or other government building far away from the barracks building was a good bet. After all, I wasn’t actually a prisoner, and I hadn’t committed any crime against the non-Rehvites that now owned the city. At worst, I assaulted a prison guard and stole his weapon, but the circumstances around the action justified it.

The combination of fresh air from the evening rain that had stopped just before the escape, new humidity, low light, and soft city noise gave me a strange sense of nostalgia while I wandered the streets in search of somewhere to turn myself in. For a few of the instants that my eyes were closed while I blinked, my brain even transported me back to South America, replacing the stone buildings with trees and concrete shelters. Is this part of the new emotionality too? I wondered, It’s not overly unpleasant, but it is distracting.

Eventually I passed by a plot of land that gave me pause for a moment. Judging by the layout, a long rectangle with a large courtyard in front of an ornate building, it had likely been the site of the Awrehrehzha Rehvite temple before the city was taken over. Maybe it’s a… non-Rehvite temple, I considered as I walked into the open yard, They might listen to my story here. In the middle of the grass stood a statue, and the path to the building behind it split in two directions to form a circle for viewing from all angles. I wasn’t particularly concerned with it at first, but the way the moonlight glinted off of the piece drew my eye.

The statue was made of bronze, stood about four meters tall, and depicted a single male figure. The man in the statue had long, flowing hair that was caught in a swooping motion, as though being moved by the wind. His brow was thick, his jaw was square to an extreme with a hint of stubble, and his expression was one of excitement. The rest of his body was covered in fine plate armor, much resembling a normal Uwrish design but with extra flair around the joints and on the chest. He appeared to be in the middle of swinging a titanically thick one-handed sword, cutting diagonally downward with his right hand. In his open left hand, there was a ball of purple-tinged crystal glass with a candle inside that glowed faintly.

At first I thought it was supposed to be another Uwrish god, like the statue of Roydlow I had seen in Pehrihnk, but there were a few things about the figure that made me look down at the plaque on its base. I read it once, then twice, then looked up at the statue again, then read it a third time just to be sure. A certain sense of unreality crept into my body, making me feel like I might be in a dream, or perhaps hallucinating, but I knew better. My dreams nearly always concerned my past, and when they didn’t they were decidedly less coherent than what I was experiencing.

Yuwniht Lihyveyz, ihlzheyv of Roydlow. A powerful warrior from an unknown foreign land, he sacrificed his life in the year 1115 to kill the Rehvite head warrior R’vaajh Tahyn along with hundreds of other enemies. His valor, along with that of his companions, prompted the gods to create the Nahloymahlthayao. He is depicted here wielding his favorite weapon, along with a representation of the mysterious light magic he often displayed when fighting. Statue by Vaoer Noytawzer, started in 1121, completed in 1122, commissioned by the Restored Awrehrehzha Temple.

I looked back up at the statue that had my name on it, mouth slightly agape, and couldn't help but laugh quietly at the absurdity. No wonder nobody recognized me, I thought, I don’t look anything like this guy.